“No.” She pressed her knees together to keep them from knocking.
He leaned closer so his face was inches from hers. “Open this door or I’ll break it down, and you’ll come with me anyway. They always do.”
How many people had he abducted?
“I’ll call the police.”
Beauregard chuckled. “Go right ahead. While you’re at it, tell the sheriff I said hello. Frank and I had lunch the other day. I’ve been meanin’ to give him a call.”
So the Dixie Mafia had the police in their pocket. Belle was screwed.
Screaming for help was the only other option, but she lived between an elderly man and a woman raising two girls by herself. They wouldn’t be much help.
Why, oh why, hadn’t she bought herself a gun for protection? Everyone else in Texas had one.
Seeing no other option, Belle opened the door and let the wolves in.
Chapter Two
Fifteen minutes later, Belle found herself in the back seat of Byron Beauregard’s black Escalade, speeding down the streets of Crimson Creek.
The Creek was named for the meandering stream bisecting the town, the bed was filled with jagged red volcanic rocks. When the water was high and rushed over those scarlet stones, they looked bloody—like someone had been murdered in the water.
Someone like me.
Beauregard drove, and Rebel Jackson sat beside her in the back seat with a pistol on his lap. He didn’t say a damn thing, merely watched her with a grim expression. Beauregard observed her in the rearview mirror, glancing up every once in a while.
At least they’d given her time to shrug on a sweatshirt and a pair of jeans. Facing down a Mafioso in her bathrobe would’ve been worse. And she still didn’t have a clue what Dixon Wolf wanted with her.
It felt like a long ride, though it couldn’t have lasted more than a few minutes. Belle had driven by it many times, and she’d always wanted to look inside Wolf’s mansion. Now, she’d get her chance in the worst way possible.
The house had a Southwestern hacienda look with a courtyard and a red tile roof. They parked near an ornate brick wall bordered by a fountain. Beauregard jumped out and led the way to the front door. Rebel trailed after her—in case she made a run for it?
They passed a collection of clay pots and long, thin shrubs lining the walkway. The turquoise front door was massive and ornate, possibly antique. A detailed cross was carved into the surface and looked like it belonged in one of those old-time Spanish missions.
A maid let them in the front door, and the foyer lived up to the exterior. The ceiling had to be twenty or thirty feet high with exposed wooden beams. The tile floors were artfully arranged to form patterns. The walls were plain beige stucco, which accented the rustic paintings done in bright colors—red, purple, yellow, and orange. It didn’t seem the sort of place where someone would be murdered. Getting blood out of the tile would take hours, she thought hysterically.
“Ms. Nunn is here to see Mr. Wolf,” Beauregard said to the maid, who nodded then disappeared down the corridor.
A young woman in her twenties walked into the foyer shortly afterward. She had baby-fine black hair pulled up into a bun, pale skin, and blue eyes behind tortoiseshell glasses. The woman had an hourglass figure with large breasts and curvy thighs and wore a dark blue skirt with a gray silk shirt.
“I’m Victoria Hale, but everybody calls me Vick.” She smiled then nodded in greeting to Beauregard and Rebel. “I’m Dix’s personal assistant, tech expert, and all-around Gal Friday—without the requisite sexual overtones.”
Belle didn’t know what to say, so she stayed mute.
“You’re freakin’ out, aren’t ya?”
“No, I’m fine.” Belle hoped her body language matched the statement.
“Sure you are. Come with me, Annabelle. It’s okay if I call you Annabelle, right? I feel like I already know you.”
How? “It’s Belle, actually.” She glanced at her kidnappers.
“Go on.” Beauregard made a shooing motion. “Reb and I got other things to do tonight. Don’t we, boy?”
Jackson sighed. “I’m twenty-two years old—ain’t a boy.”
“You’re still wet behind the ears, and you don’t know your ass from a hole in the ground.” Beauregard slapped him upside the head.
“Ouch!”
“How will I get home?” Unless she wouldn’t be going home…? Her stomach seized into a tight, hard knot.
“I expect he’ll work somethin’ out.” Beauregard swaggered to the front door with Rebel right behind him.
And then they were gone.
Vick took off down the corridor, and Belle followed, going as slow as humanly possible. The assistant stopped at a large door located at the end of the hall and rapped on it.
“Ms. Nunn is here to see you.”
“Send her in, Vick.” She ushered Belle inside.
Dixon Wolf sat at a table, phone to his ear. He didn’t even glance in Belle’s direction. Holding his coffee cup aloft, he raised a brow at Vick.
With a roll of her eyes, she replenished his mug from the red Black & Decker pot sitting at another table along the wall. He grabbed a squeeze bottle of honey and squirted some into the coffee.
Wolf scratched a note on a legal pad and handed it to Vick. She frowned, crossed it out, and wrote something else. He read it and nodded, then handed her two folders, which she tucked under her arm. They had a shared rhythm—a perfect workplace duet.
“Would you like a cup?” Vick whispered to Belle.
Belle had run out of coffee three weeks ago and couldn’t afford to buy more, so even the scent was delicious and soothing in its familiarity. Yet, this seemed like an odd time to be sociable.
Oh, what the hell. Belle was screwed anyway; she might as well enjoy herself while she could. It’d be her version of the last supper—last beverage.
“Yes, cream and sugar, please.”
“Comin’ right up.” Vick fixed her a cup then headed out the door, leaving her alone with Dixon Wolf.
Belle sipped the coffee, savoring the taste—warm, creamy, sweet, and even better than she remembered. Maybe she could use it as a weapon if need be—hot liquid would sting. Nah, Wolf probably had a gun. Coffee didn’t trump a piece.
Every so often, Wolf replied to the person speaking on the phone, but his responses were vague. “Thank you for bringing it to my attention” and “Do you have any other information?” She wondered if those seemingly innocent phrases were code for something sinister.
Whoever he was speaking to, Wolf didn’t like very much, according to his body language. Yet, he was polite. So maybe the caller on the line was a boss. A superior he had to make nice with?
As he listened, he scratched away on a piece of paper. His knuckles had gone white from the death grip he had on the pen. He reminded her of his namesake, a caged wolf—someone with tenuous control of his wilder impulses.
Belle studied him. She put his age around late forties, possibly early fifties. His thick, dark brown hair was bracketed by streaks of silver. The edges of his mouth and eyes were creased, and he had a layer of stubble on his cheeks and chin. He wore a white button-down shirt and a navy suit. The tie hung loosely around his neck like a coiled snake.
And he wore a wedding band.
What sort of woman married a mobster? Someone like my mother.
Belle scanned the room while the Mafioso finished his phone call. Sadly, she didn’t spy any handy escape routes. Instead, she noted the décor and tried to use it to distract herself.
She enjoyed seeing other people’s offices. It gave her information about someone’s personality and character. Was the space warm and inviting? Decorated with pictures of pets and children? Her former boss, Jim, had frat boy decorations—a basketball hoop over the door, bowling trophies lined up on shelves, and a tiny golf game on his desk.
Dix’s office had a Southwestern theme. The walls were stucco with the same tile floor found in the foyer. Instead of a
desk, he worked at a rough-hewn table. Along the wall behind him was a selection of sleek black filing cabinets.
Everything seemed structured, like an ordinary office, but the organization was maniacal. Wolf’s office seemed cold and impersonal. He didn’t have any knickknacks or personal photos. Everything in the space had a purpose—except for a dartboard near the door. Belle was betting he used it for stress relief.
Wolf pointed imperiously to the pair of Queen Anne’s chairs in front of his desk, indicating she should sit. They were upholstered in a crimson suede fabric to match the room. Loathe to antagonize a killer, Belle meekly plunked down into a seat, clutching the mug.
She blew the surface, causing it to ripple, then took a long, fortifying sip. Belle closed her eyes and focused on the flavor. She expelled a long, slow breath and centered herself once more.
You’re going to be okay. You can get through this.
“Wanna be alone with the mug?”
Belle found Wolf studying her, the edges of his mouth curled into an almost-smile. He’d evidently ended his phone call.
“Uh, no.” Belle straightened up in the chair.
“Sure looks like it.” He cocked his head to the side, studying her with an unnerving, frank gaze. “For a moment, I thought you might kiss it.”
“It’s been a while since I had coffee.” She tried not to sound defensive.
“I can tell.”
“What do you want with me?”
Wolf’s amber-eyed gaze slowly slid over her body, making her disturbingly aware of him. Something about his eyes was unnerving—animalistic—not quite brown, but a golden hue.
“What a loaded question, Ms. Nunn.”
Belle swallowed the lump in her throat. For a long moment drenched in tension, they studied one another. She couldn’t think, could scarcely breathe.
Despite all the businessman trappings—the expensive suit, the fancy office—she could see beneath his veneer of civility. This man was a predator, and she was his prey.
Unbidden, the lyrics from Into the Woods popped into her head. It was a fairy tale musical, and Belle was playing Red Riding Hood to Dix’s Big Bad Wolf. The wolf sang Hello Little Girl, an unnerving, rapacious number somewhere between sexual and carnivorous.
Belle glanced down at the cherry red sweatshirt she wore. Talk about dressing for the part.
She cleared her throat. “I meant, why do you want to see me, Mr. Wolf?”
“Fine, we’ll talk business, Annabelle.” He’d deliberately used her given name. “I’ll let you have it your way, for now.”
“It’s Belle.”
“Belle it is, and I’m Dix.”
For a wild moment, she pictured his name as D-I-C-K-S. It would be more appropriate for a man who arranged abductions, but she kept the humor to herself.
“Dix it is.”
“Your father’s Emmett Caldwell, correct?” Dix took a piece of paper from the pile in front of him.
And everything made sense. Of course, Belle’s no-good, lying, cheating father was involved.
“What did Emmett do now?”
“You don’t call him Dad?”
“He’s never been much of one.” Belle fidgeted in her chair. Even thinking about Emmett made her prickly. “I went into the foster care system when I was a kid.” Older children were rarely adopted.
“I’m sorry.” His brows knit together, and the corners of his mouth turned down.
To her astonishment, he actually looked sympathetic—and if he wasn’t sincere, he could win an Oscar.
“Were you married?”
Belle blinked. The question came flying out of nowhere.
“No.”
“I’m askin’ cuz you don’t have the same last name as your father.”
Belle had rejected Emmett on every level—his last name, his accent, and his lifestyle. Carolina, Belle’s mother, had ruined her life by taking up with him. Belle self-consciously rubbed her ring finger—if she had her way, there’d never be any jewelry on it.
“I took my mother’s maiden name, and my parents were never married.”
Dix nodded. “Explains why I never found a marriage certificate. Your father’s first wife, Beulah Caldwell, died in a car accident, correct?”
“Yeah, I think they were in the middle of divorce proceedings when it happened.” It’d occurred before she was born, so Belle didn’t know much about it.
“I see. According to my records, he kept all of their assets, along with a sizeable settlement from the insurance company.”
“What are you implying?” Emmett was a bastard, but he wasn’t a murderer.
“I’m only askin’ questions.”
“I have one too. Why are you looking for him?”
“Emmett and his partner, Darrell, borrowed fifty thousand dollars from me and skipped town.”
It took a moment to process—fifty thousand dollars. Emmett was in deep with the Dixie Mafia, which made Dixon Wolf a loan shark. Was her father insane?
Hold up. To borrow money, he’d have to be in Crimson Creek.
“Emmett was in town?”
Dix nodded.
And her father hadn’t said a word—no note, no card. Nothing. What a bastard.
“Typical.”
Belle bit the inside of her cheek. What, did she expect Emmett would knock on her door one night and beg for her forgiveness?
Please, Daddy, don’t leave me.
Dammit. Why did it still hurt?
Dix watched her intently with his peculiar amber eyes.
She glued on an apathetic face. Emmett didn’t give a damn about her and never had. Belle should accept it and move on. He deserved the same sort of consideration he gave her—none.
“Where is he?”
“How should I know? Oh, that’s why I’m here.” Belle laughed without humor. “I don’t have a clue.”
“Your father was in town, and you didn’t know? Do you expect me to swallow that line?”
“Yes, since it’s the truth.” She raised her chin. “We haven’t spoken in years.” Belle drained the rest of her drink and set the mug down on the floor beside her.
“Are you lyin’ to me? Tryin’ to save his worthless hide?” Dix leaned forward.
“No.” Yet, somehow, she felt guilty anyway. Accepting blame for things she didn’t do had been a staple of her childhood.
“You wouldn’t like how I deal with liars.”
Oh, God.
What did he do to liars? Beat them with baseball bats? Pull out their fingernails? Belle’s calf muscles twitched as she suppressed the urge to run out of this room screaming.
She sucked in a breath. “I’m telling you the truth.”
Dix locked eyes on her, trying to make her squirm, but she didn’t flinch under his examination.
And then his gaze softened, warmed—turned into something more personal—something hungry. His eyes blazed with a fire that made her both nervous and strangely excited.
Which was stupid.
Dixon Wolf was a bad man, like Emmett. She shouldn’t think about what it might be like to kiss him. Or how the scruff on his jaw would feel scratching the sensitive skin of her inner thighs.
His gaze dipped to her mouth as if he contemplated kissing her as well.
“So, uh, I can’t help you.” Belle flushed. She could feel the rush of blood moving up her neck.
“And would you help me if you could?”
Belle had to think about it. “I’m guessing that when you find Emmett, it isn’t going to be pretty.” Dix didn’t strike her as the kind of man who’d let fifty grand walk out of town without a fight.
He sat back in his chair, an indolent grin on his full lips. God, the man really had a delicious-looking mouth. She bet his lips were soft at first before they became harder, ravenous.
Woah.
“Do you think I’m a criminal?”
“Uh…” Fear splashed all over her inappropriate awareness of him like a bucket of cold water.
&nbs
p; He threw his head back, laughing. “Calm down. You don’t have to answer.”
Belle hugged herself.
“I’m a businessman. I have strong ties to the community, but some of those ties are less than legal. I mean your father no…permanent…harm.”
She nodded but didn’t believe him for a second.
“Dead men don’t pay their debts, Belle. I’d be in financial trouble if I didn’t encourage them to pay up.”
Did shattered knee caps and broken arms count as encouragement?
“Unfortunately, when I dug a bit deeper into his partner, Darrell, I couldn’t track him further back than three years.”
“Meaning?”
“Meaning he gave me an alias, which leaves your father on the hook for all the money. Will you tell me if Emmett contacts you?”
Belle didn’t know what to say.
There was no love lost between herself and Emmett, but could she hand him over to the brutal mercies of the Dixie Mafia? She bit the inside of her cheek. The man had given her life, if nothing else. Did she have the courage to tell the gangster no?
“You aren’t sure, are you? Even after he abandoned you. How remarkable.”
Oh, God, would he beat her up now? The warmth leached from her fingertips, and she felt light-headed.
No, Dix probably had henchman to do that for him. He struck her as the management sort. And men wearing expensive suits wouldn’t get them bloody.
“Well, don’t worry. You don’t have to.”
She gasped. “I don’t?”
“I’m gonna watch you instead—you’ll lead me right to Emmett.”
Fantastic. Cash flow problems with a side order of abduction and stalking.
Could my life get any better? Wait. Scratch that.
“You aren’t holding me responsible for his debt, right?” In the movies, mobsters always came after the family members. Please tell me I’m not 50K deeper in the hole.
“I’m tempted to extract some sort of payment from you, but we didn’t enter into a contract.”
Despite the sexual innuendo, Belle lolled against the seat, the tension uncoiling a bit.
“However, I’m gonna dig into you a little deeper—poke around, see what I find.”
Flesh and Blood (Dixie Mafia Series Book 1) Page 2